By My Side
by Admiral von Cha-Cha
Summary: Bad dreams, big brothers, otters, and arguments. How Gawain and Galahad came to be friends, because all great friendships have to start somewhere! A one-shot trilogy - for the moment, at least...
1. Bad Dreams

**How Gawain and Galahad came to be friends, because all great friendships have to start somewhere! More to come, if you like it, as I thought it'd be interesting to see their friendship develop over the years. Hope you enjoy! **

…_blood a horse twitching on the ground no mother don't please I can fix him…dark skies have you no older sons to give? then we shall have to take him you owe the emperor your loyalty…no don't take me please my son he is too…mother's throat pale and slashed with red father screaming no Minna no sweetheart wake up… wake up…_

"…Wake up! Hey, I'm here, I'm here boy. Wake up, now."

Galahad twitched violently as hands shook him from his nightmare, bringing him sharply back to the warm closeness of the tent. The older boy he had been paired with was leaning over him, looking worried. Galahad coughed and sat up, then burst into tears. The older boy looked alarmed as Galahad sobbed and sobbed, frightened by his dream and overcome by a crushing wave of homesickness.

"There now…" said the older boy uncertainly, patting him on the shoulder. As if an invisible barrier between them had broken down, Galahad threw himself at the boy and sobbed into his rough homespun tunic, his nose tickled by the fur lining of the collar. The boy stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and hugged Galahad's trembling body to his, speaking gently to him the way he remembered his mother used to speak to him after a nightmare.

"Miss m'mum," mumbled Galahad, looking up at the boy with tearful eyes. Gawain had to swallow quickly, for the younger boy's words threatened to reduce him to tears as well. He had to be strong, his father had told him. He had to do his tribe proud, and return home where he would be honoured.

"Me too," he whispered as the younger boy crawled onto his lap and laid his head against his tunic, making it damp with tears. Gawain struggled to breathe around the painful lump that had suddenly grown in his throat, and he tried to take deep calming breaths, imagining the cool air of the steppes racing through his veins. After a while, the younger boy quieted, having evidently cried himself out, but instead of moving away from Gawain he snuggled deeper into the folds of the tunic. Gawain was reminded suddenly of his baby brother back home, and did not push the boy away. It would be nice to be a big brother for someone here.

"What's your name?" asked the boy, raising his tousled head of brown curls to look up at Gawain. Gawain smiled.

"I'm Gawain, and I'm twelve," he said, trying to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. It had been his name-day three days ago; and Tristran, one of the older boys, had tied a special braid in his hair to mark him as a man. Tristran was fifteen, and before he had left his tribe, his father had given him the marks of a Scout on his cheekbones, either side of his face. Tristran barely spoke to anyone, and when he had offered to braid Gawain's hair for him, Gawain thought he might burst with pride. Tristran had let him touch the feathers of his hawk, Yseult. Gawain was certain that they would be best friends soon. Then he could go and help Tristran scout, and they could hunt for rabbits and…

"Aren't you going to ask my name?" asked the younger boy worriedly, startling Gawain out of his reverie.

"Oh, sorry. What's your name, little brother?"

"Galahad. I'm nine, but I'm not your little brother," he said solemnly. Gawain gave him a friendly punch.

"Would you like to be?" he asked, trying not to look too hopeful. Percival and Bedivere, two of the other boys his age, had told him that it was important not to show too much emotion. _Otherwise, the Romans'll beat you up, _said Lionel, the most ancient one among them. He was nineteen, and Gawain had been speechless with awe that Lionel had paid attention to _him. _Lionel had his own axe, and Gawain was determined that he would learn to fight with an axe, just so Lionel could teach him. So, Tristran would be his best friend, Lionel would be his teacher, and Galahad…

"Yes, please," said Galahad finally, furrowing his brow and looking uncertainly at Gawain. "Does that mean you won't tease me about my kilt?"

"Your what?" asked Gawain, confused.

"My kilt," said Galahad, pointing to his legs. So _that _was what the skirt was called. Gawain kept a solemn look upon his face, determined not to insult his new younger brother. He would be the best older brother there was, and even that nasty Lancelot would be jealous.

"I promise I won't," he said, feeling very proud at the happy look on Galahad's face. The younger boy scrambled off his lap and went over to his bed-roll, dragging it over so it lay next to Gawain's own.

"Can I sleep here?" asked Galahad belatedly, but hopefully. Gawain nodded, and the boy looked relieved. "Just in case I have more bad dreams," he explained as Gawain crawled back into his bedding. Just as Gawain was about to drift off to sleep, he remembered something.

"Do you want to learn how to throw knives tomorrow? Mordred is going to teach me and Tristran. He won't mind if you come, he's nice."

"Mm," mumbled Galahad sleepily. "Orright."

Gawain smiled. He had a feeling he would like being an older brother.

**Please review if you feel like it! They make my day **


	2. Flora, Fauna and NotSoMerry Weather

_**Some people are meant to go on missions with one another, and others… aren't. Galahad and Tristran, for example.**_

**Beware: randomly google images of baby otters and this is what happens… **

**(Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur or any of the characters). Please review and tell me if I'm delusional – is it just me who thinks that Galahad looks vaguely otter-like?**

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"So…"

_Silence._

"Nice weather, today."

_Grunt._

Galahad rolled his eyes, and tried to think of something that would draw the surly scout out of his reclusive silence. Truly, he was the most socially inadequate being Galahad had ever met. He glanced around, looking for ideas, but all he could see was mist and trees. Of all the miserable missions on which to be posted… Finally, inspiration struck, and he cleared his throat and spoke. "Where's that hawk of yours, Tristran?" Ignoring the oppressive silence, he barrelled on. "Is she hunting? Did I tell you, the other day, I was sitting on a bench at the barracks, just minding my own business, when she dropped a small, mouse-type creature in the middle of my meal? Can you train her not to do that? It's very annoying."

"Can Gawain train you to shut up? Others find _you _very annoying."

"Wha… hey! Stop being so defensive. She's just a bird." Gritting his teeth, Galahad wished he'd just kept his mouth shut, like Gawain told him to do around their cantankerous companion. Blood-licking, greasy-haired, sneak-footed…

"You're just a pup."

"I am not a _pup_!"

"You resemble one."

"I do not! And I don't appreciate being compared to a dog. Stop smirking, Tristran. Tristran, stop it. I mean it, Tristran…"

"Wasn't comparing you to a _dog, _pup."

"Oh. What…"

"Otter pup. Small, energetic, pathetic whisker-growth…" Tristran waved a spare hand expressively, as he was wont to do when drawn into a non-monosyllabic conversation. Galahad fumed.

"Are you trying to insult my beard? If you are, it is not pathetic. It's better than your patchy, moth-eaten… chin-fur."

"Chin-fur?" muttered Tristran dubiously. "So speaks the baby otter."

"I am not…"

"Mm, you are. Always running, ehh… how do you say… gambolling. Yes."

"You should at least _try _to learn Latin, Tristran. It's not much of a show of defiance if you don't even know how to talk to the Romans in order to insult them."

"Pah! They are scared of me. Otter pups are easier prey."

"For the last time, I am _not _an otter pup! And be quiet, or…"

"You will set your brother on me? Huh. You are funny, otter-ling." Galahad bristled at the mention of Gawain. One hundred miles separated his best friend from him, and though he would never admit it to anyone, Galahad missed Gawain dreadfully. They had not been separated for more than three days since they met, seven long years ago. It had been eight days. _Eight days _without Gawain to grumble with, to deflect Tristran, to spar with, to help him find the best place to lay down his bed-roll. Gawain was his family. _He _would have told Tristran to leave Galahad alone. _He_ would have reassured Galahad that he did not look like an otter pup. As they rode along the path and watched the forbidding trees to either side of them, Galahad wondered if he could surreptitiously look at his reflection in his sword. Just to check that he did not look like said mammal infant. Not that he thought he did. It would just be reassuring. It would. _Oh, Gawain, _he thought miserably. _I hate Arthur. I hate missions. I hate Tristran. _A loud, jovial laugh erupted from one of the caravans behind them. _I hate old, rich Romans. No, I hate _all _Romans. _

"You will see the lion soon, pup," said Tristran unexpectedly. Galahad looked over at him in surprise, wondering if this was some sort of obscure threat. "Your brother," Tristran confirmed boredly, picking at a caked smear of mud on his sleeve.

"How did you…"

Tristran snorted. "You looked like an otter pup without its mother. Very… euh… melancholy. Distressed." He pressed the back of his palm to his forehead in mock despair.

Galahad growled in frustration. "You are the most annoying, prying, sneaking…"

"I go scouting, pup. Lots of nice rain coming – you'll be happy, eh? Otters like swimming." With that, Tristran urged his horse into a trot and took off down the road without a second glance. Thunder grumbled overhead, and a fat plop of rain landed on Galahad's nose. With a rebellious mutter, he hunched his shoulders up and pulled his cloak more tightly around him, trying to keep out the bitterly cold wind. That scout had some nerve. Galahad did not look miserable. Otter pup without its mother. Huh (to utilise Tristran's second-favourite response. The first being grunting).

As it began to rain in earnest, however, Galahad shook his head in grudging amusement. Maybe he did look a bit like an otter pup at the moment, but as Gawain said, he would start growing soon. He didn't really care what the scout said. At least he didn't look like a bird, the way Tristran did with his matted hair and odd tattoos.

_And besides_, he thought to himself. _I'd rather be an otter pup with a lion for a brother, than to be a tatty bird in need of a good bath and some lessons in Latin. _


	3. A Way With Words

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**3. A Way with Words**

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The candle was burning low, but Gawain's enthusiasm was burning even lower.

"...And see here, this is the letter 'A'," explained Galahad excitedly, pointing to the scribble on the page. Gawain squinted at it blearily. Perhaps those three drinks hadn't been such a good idea. The squiggle squatted balefully on the parchment, glaring up at him in an insubordinate, inky sort of way. "It makes a sharp 'ah' sound. Now what can you…"

"Like Lancelot, when you trip him over," sniggered Gawain, fiddling with one of his braids. Galahad rolled his eyes and took a long, patient breath.

"Yes, a bit like that. What can you think of that makes that sound?"

"I just told you," Gawain said, frowning in confusion. He scratched at his beard, wondering if he should get it cut. Perhaps it was time for a new look? Where had he put that razor, the nice sharp…

"Gawain!" exclaimed Galahad irritably. "What begins with 'a'? Come on, can you think of something? What does Tristran like to eat?"

"What does that have to do with anything? Start concentrating, Galahad – aren't you supposed to be the one telling me the answers?" Gawain folded his arms across his chest and rolled his shoulders. Learning was definitely overrated. There were so many other things he could be doing, and here he was, sprawled across the Round Table learning how to spell. He yawned widely, and cracked his knuckles. With a groan, Galahad buried his head in his arms, muttering something unintelligibly. "What's that, Galahad?" asked Gawain, leaning closer.

"Apples!" The unexpected wail almost caused Gawain to fall off the side of his chair in shock as he scrambled away. The younger man fixed Gawain with a tearful look; his back slumped miserably over the polished surface of the table.

"What?" Oh, gods, he'd done it now. He'd pushed Galahad over the edge. Cautiously, Gawain patted his friend's back, only to be swatted away.

"They begin with the letter 'a'!" cried Galahad, scrubbing at his eyes. "Think, Gawain! What else? Please…" He trailed off, looking pleadingly at the older Knight.

"That doesn't begin with 'a', does it?" Gawain sounded out the word in his mind, like Galahad had told him to earlier. "It makes more of a 'puh' sound, if you think…"

"What. Begins. With. 'A'."

Gawain bit his lip; actually feeling nervous in the face of Galahad's barely contained rage. "A… a… er, 'angry'?" He barely kept the quaver of uncertainty from his voice.

Silence.

"Galahad?" asked Gawain hesitantly.

"Thank the gods," whispered his friend, reaching out blindly to take Gawain's hand. With a surge of relief, Gawain squeezed Galahad's hand, and smiled. "You've done it, Gawain," said Galahad finally, having collected himself sufficiently enough to be able to speak. "You've done it."

Gawain let out a whoop of joy, throwing his chair to the side and clapping Galahad on the back exuberantly. "Let's go and get a drink then! Gods, and Lancelot said that learning the alphabet was hard! What an idiot." He grinned broadly at Galahad, who was giving him an odd look. "What's wrong?" The silence stretched between them, Galahad still staring at him strangely. "Having trouble sneezing?" asked Gawain, the pained expression on his friend's face starting to worry him.

"Gawain… We're brothers, right? We can tell each other anything."

Gawain frowned, and sat back down on his seat. He patted the chair beside him, and Galahad sat down, clasping his hands between his knees and resting his forearms on his thighs. _Ah, _thought Gawain to himself. _I know what's going on here. _

"Lady trouble?" he asked, giving Galahad a knowing smile. He tapped the side of his nose and leaned back on his chair lazily. "Ask away, my friend. As you know, I…"

"What? No! No, this is about you. I… I don't know how to tell you this, Gawain."

Gawain was beginning to feel concerned. "What's wrong?"

"The alphabet," sighed Galahad, refusing to meet his friend's worried blue eyes. "There are… Gawain, there are twenty-six letters."

"And?"

"You only learned the first one. There are still twenty five to go."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Definitely time for a drink then, eh, Gadsy?"

"Oh, no you don't. Your education is much more important than a cup of mead, Ga…"

Gawain hauled him up from his seat and began dragging him out the door. "You sound like Arthur. Come on. We can start again tomorrow night. Or the night after." _Or never again, _he thought silently, ignoring Galahad's noisy protests as he hauled him towards the tavern, where the bright light of candles and torches awaited them, and the alcohol flowed freely, and the wenches waited eagerly…

_Oh, yes_, thought Gawain, as he caught a whiff of Vanora's finest ale drifting over to him on the light summer breeze. _Learning the alphabet could __**definitely**__ wait. _He glanced over at Galahad, who rolled his eyes long-sufferingly, and then followed him into the tavern.

Gawain smiled fondly at Galahad's back as the younger Knight disappeared into the crowd in search of drinks. He was a good sort, his little brother.

Even if he was slightly… melodramatic… when it came to learning the alphabet.


End file.
